Running From Death
by Liz Huisman
Summary: Am I a coward for wanting death, or am I a coward for dodging it?


Title: Running From Death (1/1)  
  
Author: Liz Huisman  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Spoilers: For anyone who doesn't know the truth about Gandalf and the whole Moria thing… DON'T READ. It'll give it away. You've been warned.  
  
Disclaimer: What money could I POSSIBLY make from this dribble?  
  
A/N: Another AngstFic! (I'm in the muse!) And I might just write another chapter of 'And the Angels Were Silent' tonight, if I so desire. If. Yeah. So—this is just something angsty I thought up while browsing a West Wing Fanfiction group in Yahoo. Frodo POV. Prolly not in character, but around here, that doesn't seem to matter. (Can you see the bitterness? I can't believe I'm going to be a contributor to out-of-character stuff—unless you guys think this is in character. I dunno. Sue me.)  
  
Summary: Am I a coward for wanting death, or am I a coward for dodging it?  
  
P.S.: Hints of Frodo/? Slash, which means that YOU CHOOSE YOUR LOVER! Because I know not everyone's on the Frodo/Sam bandwagon, or the Frodo/someone else bandwagon. So I'm gonna let you choose, and by doing that I'm hoping to satisfy you. Fair enough? (I'd also love to know who you think it should be. I'm curious!)  
  
  
  
Wasn't I supposed to die somewhere along my journey?  
  
I believed when I first started that I wouldn't be coming back, ever. I believed that deeply, and then I was stabbed at Weathertop. I thought I was going to die then. I was sent to Rivendell, therefore I didn't.  
  
Then, I set off on the quest to destroy the Ring with my dearest friends, and a few new ones, as well. We chose the road to Moria, and there Gandalf nearly perished. Okay, I should say that I myself chose the way to Moria, and there I was hit with an arrow. And yet I didn't die, due to the mithril. I should have died there, too.  
  
Cirith Ungol. There's a place I could never forget, and there was the third place I should have died. Shelob's poisoning. But for Sam's rescuing me, I'd have perished there as well.  
  
There were also many times during the journey that I could have been killed. Attacking Orcs, Black Riders, and the long journey through Mordor itself. I weathered everything, though, and came out okay, except for bad memories, nightmares, and getting sick twice during each following year.  
  
It doesn't seem fair, though. Not to me, at any rate. This was my horrible journey to begin with, and Boromir ended up dying. Gandalf died, too, and only because of Gwaihir is he yet alive. And then there's me, who was saved countless times. They don't know that I think it was needlessly. They don't have to know, though, because I'm here everyday with them, being me, and they shouldn't have to be troubled with that thought.  
  
Sometimes I almost wish I had died, to be honest. I wouldn't suffer every March and every October. I wouldn't have these horrible, recurring nightmares of Cirith Ungol, among other things. I wouldn't be spending the majority of my days in solitude, memories popping up of horrid things from that journey I'd rather just forget. It'd be easier on me had I died.  
  
But then another part of me tells me that's cowardly, to want to die. That I'm a coward because I can't face my problems like I should.  
  
Am I a coward? Am I a coward for wanting death, or am I a coward for dodging it?  
  
Not that it's my entire fault that I dodged it, but I didn't do anything when the Orcs attacked the rest of the group. I was too worried about myself at that point to worry about the rest of them, as I regret to admit now.  
  
I ran from death. Is that cowardly? Or is wanting death the cowardly act?  
  
  
  
That moment of sorrow soon passed. I still don't know which is cowardly, or if they're both cowardly, then which is the more cowardly act. I don't have answers, but I'm content again, because I start thinking about him, and I'm filled with a sudden happiness.  
  
Him. I think maybe it's because somewhere inside my mind told my body to wait, because I hadn't fulfilled my innermost wish.  
  
I'm still unhappy, even though it's been fulfilled. I wish my mind hadn't interfered, just left my body to do what it wanted. I wish I didn't feel like this, but I just can't help it. These thoughts are the ones that plague me. Not feelings of happiness and warmth, even though I'm feeling that at the moment, because I'm expecting him today.  
  
There's a knocking at my door, now. I know it's him, and my heart rejoices. The painful feelings won't leave me, though. They'll just be buried alive, waiting to be resurfaced.  
  
Then the time will come for me to want to die once more.  
  
  
  
END  
  
(Sorry if that was bad. Was it? It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, and just would not get out of my head!) 


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